


30 Days of Writing

by JoAsakura



Category: Mass Effect, X-Factor (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:00:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a compiliation of the thirty days of writing challenge on tumblr. Mostly mass effect, except for one RicStar interlude right now (snowflake). Will update as this progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

_without an end, there can be no beginning._

Kaidan tells himself this over and over and over until the words stop meaning anything and are just random sounds he makes to himself at night, curled in Shepard’s cabin. Just white noise in the back of his skull as he fights to keep the crew together and functioning after the crash when all he wants to do is scream at the moons above and pray that Shepard hears him.

Without an end to the threat of the Reapers, the galaxy can’t begin to truly look towards the future.

Without an end to the repairs, the Normandy can’t begin the long, limping slog back to Earth.

Without an end to the desperate waiting for news, Kaidan can’t begin to move on with his life, in whatever direction it might lead. He can’t begin to decide if he has to finally put that plaque on the wall.

And then the news comes, half-garbled and staticky through the damaged QEC, that Shepard is broken and battered and half-dead, but still half-alive.

With it, Kaidan feels the despair that’s sat eating away at his heart finally end, and in it’s place, something much stronger.. something much brighter.. begins.


	2. Accusation

Kaidan’s words hang in the air like unexploded ordnance. He knows it as well as Shepard does, and one wrong move from either of them will erupt in a surge of violence that Garrus and the old merc with him would be unable to contain.

Two powerful, unhappy biotics staring each other down as the wind stirs the tall grass.

He wants to hug Shepard again, feel the tickle of his short hair against his nose. He wants to punch Shepard in the face. Biotic slam him into the nearest building. He wants Shepard to give him an excuse, to light the fuse on the accusations he just laid out like old-fashioned dynamite in between them.

And god damn him, with anyone else, Shepard might have. Might have let them slug it out, headbutt him like a krogan, cleared the air with violence. But he can’t. Not with Kaidan. Shepard’s gaze never leaves his and he’s trying to defuse the situation, explaining he was in a coma for two years, and his voice is soft and shaking and not nearly as calm as it seems, and all Kaidan hears is the voice of the man who carried him to safety on Virmire, that same soft, shaking voice telling him everything was going to be ok.

Only this time, it doesn’t make anything better.

~

Kaidan’s words hover like a black shadow in the back of his brain when he sees Shepard the next time. But they step around them, and Kaidan thinks, maybe the minefield is clear.

~~

Until Mars. And Cerberus, and Kaidan can’t stop pushing, can’t stop questioning, and he watches Shepard’s fingers twitch on the helmet in his hands, then stop, grabbing a railing instead, the metal deforming ever-so-slightly under his grip.

And then everything is going dark as the android beats the shit out of him, and there’s that soft, shaking voice, telling him everything was going to be ok.

It doesn’t make anything better this time, either.

~~

And then they’re staring at each other down the barrels of their guns, Udina shouting in the background, and all the accusations that Kaidan had sworn with Shepard to bury aren’t defused at all, they’re just sitting under the surface, waiting to explode.

Shepard’s gaze never leaves his, never wavers, even as Garrus (again, *always* Garrus by his side, Kaidan thinks) and that kid from HQ finger their guns.

Kaidan could shoot him in this moment, he thinks. And Shepard would let him. He knows it as true as anything he knows. (if this is what it takes, just do it already. But trust your instincts, Kaidan. whatever you do, just end this already. Udina’s a dead man either way.)

And when Kaidan pulls the trigger, he feels the weight of the accusations, the threat of unexploded ordnance between them, finally release with one surprisingly small bang.

“I trust you.” Kaidan says as Udina falls to the ground.


	3. Restless

Even years after the war, Shepard has trouble sleeping.

His freakishly enhanced system guarantees that no sedative, sleep aide or anxiety med stays in his system for more than a few minutes, and even Kaidan’s regimes of biofeedback, acupuncture, and the greenish sludge they keep in a gallon jug in the fridge (despite the horrors they’ve experienced, neither Shepard nor Kaidan feel the slightest need to ask what’s in it. Ignorance can be bliss.) only grants him irregular respite.

It’s the worst when the weather is bad and hot, thunderclouds growling overhead. The promise of rain that never quite comes and the air heavy in their lungs even in the dark. Kaidan wakes as the bed shifts, a creak of floorboards as Shepard pads away, restlessly tracing the perimeter of their home.

Kaidan finds him in the living room, light from a streetlamp slitting through the blinds. That thin scrap of light reflects off of Shepard’s eyes like a cat’s, or a piece of crystal dangling in the window.

It’s easy, even for Kaidan - who knows Shepard’s body intimately well - to forget that he’s not entirely human. And his eyes in the daytime are beautiful, works of art. The rolling stormclouds of Neptune catching the distant rays of the sun.

But it’s a restless night, and Shepard’s not seeing the brick walls and worn leather couch. He’s somewhere else, and his eyes have kicked into night-vision mode, and the glassy flash of his eyes each time he blinks is unnerving, even now.

“Shepard.” Kaidan whispers as he pads up behind him, hands stroking across his huband’s broad, bare back, trailing across Shepard’s ribs to settle on his belly. “Perimeter’s clear. Let’s go back to bed.” he murmurs against his shoulder.

“Kaidan.” Shepard turns in his embrace, eyes bright for a moment in the darkness. “I thought we were in London again.” He says with a resigned sigh, leaning his forehead against Kaidan’s. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Enough pacing for tonight. We’re safe, Shepard. It’s time to rest.” Kaidan says softly, stroking Shepard’s hair as the streetlight traces their edges in scraps of light. “It’s ok to rest.”


	4. Snowflake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Rictor and Shatterstar)

The air is cold enough to steal their breath away, when Rictor leads ‘Star out of the little grocery store. Cable’s credit card in his pocket, bags of groceries and a few other necessities stuffed in between the frozen carrots and string cheese.

‘Star loves the comic books, but not the video games. Too much like his life before, Rictor figures as they carry their bounty down the sidewalk. Night comes early in the winter and clouds like charcoal hang low over Manhattan. Rictor’s no fan of the winter, but being in the city’s infinitely better than being stuck in the ass-end-of-nowhere Arizona.

He’s about to pontificate to ‘Star on that fact when he pauses, realises the warrior isn’t behind him, and wheels around in a momentary state of panic. (OHTHANKGOD) he thinks, seeing ‘Star a few steps behind him, standing on the sidewalk and laden with plastic bags. His eyes are comically wide and he’s just looking up at the sky in *wonder*

“‘Star? What’s up?” He says softly, following the other man’s gaze.

Fat white flakes are drifting down, and Rictor blinks as one ghosts across his eyelashes.

“Rictor, the clouds are falling.” “Star says like a child as the snowflakes melt against his bright copper hair.

“It’s just snow, amigo.” Rictor brushes the flakes from ‘Star’s hair, his eyelashes, before the redhead finally looks back at him. “Snowflakes.” The look he gets in return is pure Shatterstar: that giant irish-setter head-tilt that says he can’t parse what’s going on. “A form of ice crystals. They’re always hexagonal, but each one is supposed be different in all it’s little details, ya know?”

The head-tilt turns into the pissy-cat scowl and ‘Star hefts the bags with a snort. “I knew that.” He adds, and Rictor only laughs in return.

~~

Later, they lie together, sweaty and spent in the dark. Shatterstar stares at the ceiling, mind racing while Rictor snores.

Identical in form and function but for the details, Rictor had implied. And their lives, so brief.

And he thinks of the six Gaveedras who came before him.

(What makes me different than you were?) He asks the dark, and wonders if the only thing is the young man sleeping beside him.

~~  
Years later, Rictor finds ‘Star, sitting on the roof of their old building, sipping a cup of coffee while the snow falls in fat white flakes.

“I’m a snowflake.” ‘Star says pleasantly. “And that’s.. ok.”

Rictor sits by him and watches as well. “A very special snowflake, apparently.”

And ‘Star just laughs and hugs him close.


	5. Haze

(A mexican, a canadian and a russian walk onto a jungle planet.) Kaidan thinks as they step off the shuttle into the sweltering confines of Pragia. He swears he hears Cortez laugh as he slams the hatch shut behind him, and with every step, he’s got some creeping fear that some of the hyperactive plant life is already taking root in his suit.

There’s no punchline to the terrible joke, just the three of them struggling to breathe in humidity, their suits’ enviro controls barely keeping them even vaguely dry. (and they were all miserable, the end)

“Fuck, I hate this.” James says behind him, as if to punctuate Kaidan’s thought, as they creep through the thick air. Beside him, through the haze, Shepard looks soft focus, the lines on his face blurred. It even fades out the fact that he’s sweating. It doesn’t make him look younger, though. It makes him look..

..Alien or fake, maybe. Like a statue, grim-faced and looking at something his observers can’t see no matter how hard they stare. “Shepard.” Kaidan asks softly. “You ok?”

“This is where Cerberus experimented on biotic children.” Shepard says, voice as thick as the air, bright eyes cloudy. “Where they experimented on Jack. The generation of biotic children after us.”

They climb over a ridge, scanning for Cerberus’ new outpost. “We bombed it, Jack and I.” Shepard adds, crouching down and peering through the Widow’s scope, before setting the gun down. It’s a surprise when he slaps himself in the forehead in frustration. “Дурак! Kaidan, I should have.. “

“You couldn’t have known, Shepard. No one did.” Kaidan whispers to him as James takes perimeter and his understanding startles them both. He can guess what’s Shepard’s thinking. All the children that died here. The fact that it could have easily been one of them on the operating table. The fact that whatever they may have learned enhancing Jack’s powers had no doubt been used on him when they put him back togther.

The guilt is heavier on him than the air.

“You worked with the wrong people for the right reasons, and you did a good thing, an impossibly brave thing. Now let’s go stop them from starting the cycle over.” Kaidan smooths back the damp strands of Shepard’s hair. “C’mon.”

The clouds lift from Shepard’s eyes and he nods, giving Kaidan a sweaty kiss. “Let’s do this, Major.”


	6. Flame

_For the night is dark, and full of terrors, but the fire burns them all away. - Game of Thrones_

The world is engulfed in fire in Kaidan’s dreams. Flames as red as rubies, red as blood, red as a battered stripe down one arm of a broken man.

It burns the reapers to ash and the sky is thick with the taste of it, biosynthetic screams echoing across the globe.

It burns EDI to ash, and the ship stutters and falters in the cold of space, Joker’s screams echoing through Normandy’s bridge.

And he walks through a garden of death, watching flowers burst through the charred earth. It burned what didn’t work away, clearing the way for new growth. The ground crunches beneath his feet like snow, or bones.

And Kaidan wakes up, never knowing if he’s terrified or at peace.

Beneath his skin, pale green light dances like faery fire as he rubs his hands over his face, through his hair.

Outside, there is the sound of construction, of perfection.

And Kaidan’s fingers itch with the burn in his dreams. In Shepard’s dreams, buried deep and safe within him, like a fire banked for the night.

As he looks out over his window, Vancouver gleaming green and perfect in the morning sun, he wonders how long it will be until the spark doesn’t simply stay in his dreams.


	7. Formal

He didn’t look anything like the statue they put up on Elysium. It stood, ten feet tall and classically (youthfully) heroic, fist defiant to the sky.

He didn’t look anything like the recruitment posters he never actually signed off on, all flat colours, bold graphics, and a steely stare challenging the viewer to sign up and fight for the galaxy.

He didn’t look anything like the man in the stiff dress blues, hat pulled down low enough to hide the patchy mess of scars on his head and face as they pinned the medals to his chest to the flash of cameras.

He would never lose the limp, not quite. Would never lose all the scars or the nervous tic of his hands he’d picked up somewhere between Earth and Thessia.

And afterwards, with the drinking and the laughter and the inevitable explosion, he would absolutely not look like the hero everyone expected him to be.

But in this moment, standing across from Kaidan, hands clasped as Hackett did the honours, Shepard stood as if he was with the most important ruler in the galaxy. Shoulders square, chin up and solemn eyes never leaving Kaidan’s.

“I do.” crossed his lips like a warrior’s oath and under the makeshift tent, emergency lighting glowing softly around them in the most formal uniforms they had, he looked exactly like the hero he was


	8. Companion

The truth of the matter was there was one complaint Shepard had about Kaidan.

He never, EVER stopped talking.

For the most part, Shepard didn’t mind. Kaidan had a voice like fine whiskey, liquid smooth but with a rough burn on the edges that warmed Shepard right to the pit of his stomach and blunted the days pains. (All without a hangover or that funny taste he got in his eyeballs after drinking ryncol.)

But there were times, like now, Kaidan’s hand holding the back of his head firmly while his other (his fingers were so soft compared to Shepard’s calloused, ragged ones) traced the constellations of freckles on his back before tracing the shapes of the muscles across his shoulder, that he would have settled for a happy moan, maybe “FUCK, SHEPARD.” said in that way Kaidan said it when something particularly interesting happened.

But even as Shepard kissed his way down the smooth curve of Kaidan’s belly, soft kisses alternating with the rough scratch of his stubble - EVEN as he took Kaidan into his mouth, with all the perfect that lot of recent practice had made - he knew he wasn’t getting that.

“Mmh. So.. So some Citadel news show referred to me as your ‘companion’.” Kaidan said above him, fingers gently kneading Shepard’s scalp, taking care to avoid the amp. “I ..nff.. mean.. I mean it seems weird they’re reporting on it all, but I guess you’re famous. I’m kind of famous now too, actually. Huh. And..”

Shepard pulled back enough to speak, nuzzling Kaidan’s shaft with his cheek and pressing back, just a little against the hand still holding him. “Companion.” He said, placing a gentle kiss against the tip.

“Shepard, I..” Kaidan started and Shepard shushed him.

“A companion weapon would have been used to deflect or parry an incoming blow so you could get your sword back in for the kill.” He said, gently running his teeth against sensitive skin. “A vanguard’s the tip of the sword, the point of a spear. If I’m a sword, then you’re the shield. Block the blow, drive them back under your force to give me time to recover.”

“Ok, but..”

“How about a companion star? We’ve seen enough binary systems out here, orbiting each other, sharing their mass across the solar winds.” Shepard said around a long lick that wrung a moan out of the major. “I would have burned out by now, Kaidan. I would have burned away if you weren’t in my orbit..”

“Sheparrrd..” Kaidan’s fingers twitched on the back of his head.

“Or the hetairoi… the greatest warriors that surrounded Alexander the Great? The Companions..” Shepard laughed softly, gently nosing his way along the crease of Kaidan’s thigh. “I mean, not that I’m..”

“Shepard, god.” Kaidan pulled the Commander’s head back to kiss him. “I love you, but sometimes, you talk too much.” He said with a growl.

He would definitely get him for that.

Later.

Much, much later.


	9. Move

It’s a mystery for the ages.

There have been hanar light poems and elcor epics written about how Shepard moves on a battlefield. The drell sings songs of it, and the quarians wove a tapestry full of precious gems to convey the beauty of it.

(Kaidan has his own separate set of poems and epics and songs and images for how Shepard moves in bed. They’re painted in the colours of sweat on skin and sung to the rasp of their breathing, the beat of their hearts. Those, Kaidan has no intention of sharing with anyone.)

But the way Shepard moves on the dance floor, it’s as if he forgets how the parts of his body fit together. It’s a joke amongst their friends and companions, where the punchline is Shepard’s total lack of rhythm. “The Shepard Shuffle”, the “Crappy Dancer”.

No one’s going to write songs about the way Shepard moves on the dance floor, unless it’s a parody tune. (There have been a few rude comics, he’s seen, though.)

But Kaidan finds it impossibly endearing, especially when Shepard holds out his hand to him with the tiniest of winks. “Dance with me, Major?”

Because no one’s going to write songs about Kaidan Alenko’s dancing either, but when they’re together? They move just fine.


	10. Silver

It’s cold outside, windows frosted in white as Kaidan stamps off the snow.

Inside, it’s warm, pipes groaning in the walls as hot water rushes to the ancient radiators, and Kaidan shakes his head, combing the damp through the thick curls. They could have lived anywhere, he thought. But Shepard stubbornly clung to the farmhouse, this fragment of Kaidan’s life, as if it were a palace.

They spend more time here than Vancouver itself now, and he wonders (not for the first time) if they should just finally move out into the sticks for good. He’s still pondering this, stepping around the debris trail Shepard’s left on the floor, when he catches a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror.

At first, he thinks he missed a spot of snow in his hair.

But it’s silver. Bright white against the black of the rest of his hair. Not just the few faint greys he’d picked up during the War, but practically a skunk stripe, and he wonders how the hell he hasn’t noticed it before.

There are lines around his eyes that weren’t there ten, fifteen years ago, and Kaidan feels like he’s looking at a stranger for a moment. (An Old Soldier) he thinks with a rueful little snort.

Down the hall, he can see Shepard, pacing as he says terrible things about the hanar ambassador. He went grey ages ago, strands the colour of a tarnished spoon replacing the original golden-brown as it grew in at an alarming rate.

Finally, he hears Shepard shout an insult in what sounds like turian, and hangs up the call. Moments later, he has an aging Vanguard draped across his back. “I missed you.” Shepard whispers in his ear.

Kaidan looks at them in the mirror. He with his skunk stripe and shepard’s grey-gold stubble rasping against his throat. “We got old.” he says with a little smile and Shepard’s blue eyes are bright over his shoulder. “I never realised it before. But we got old. Look at all the grey.”

“And we earned every one of them.” Shepard hugs him closer, watching Kaidan watch them in the mirror. “And I would do it all again, with you.”


	11. Prepared

When James fetches him to meet with the committee, Shepard’s stomach sinks like a rock.

He’d bought them six months paid for in blood and tears and they weren’t prepared. He knows this, just by the level of… scurrying that they have to ford through to get down the hall.

Anderson knows it too, he can see it in the Admiral’s eyes

He gave them all the data, he gave UP everything -his freedom, the Normandy, his good name.

And they’re not prepared.

His nails are digging crescents into his palms, trying to keep how… angry he is - that they wasted the lives of the members of his crew who fell to the collectors, that they wasted the lives of human and batarian colonists alike - under wraps. He needs to stay calm.

So much blood on his hands. Blood he took willingly to give them time.

And they’re not prepared.

Dr. Chakwas had made him write a list of things he cared about. Personally, deeply. And the positive aspects of those things. A necessity to help him heal from the Cerberus implants.

He’s running through the list when he hears Kaidan’s voice, and for a moment, he thinks it’s just his desperate imagination filling it in.

Then he looks up.

Kaidan gives him a sad/hopeful quirk of a smile, and it grabs Shepard right in the chest and squeezes his heart just a little bit. For one moment, there is no scurrying crowd, or threat of reapers or too much blood on his hands.

Just them.

And he’s not prepared.


End file.
